


A Swordsman's Shame

by ni21



Series: Scars On The Back Are A Swordsman's Shame [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Consensual Sex, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fighting Kink, Introspection, Scars, Smut, fighting is foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ni21/pseuds/ni21
Summary: After their last Run-in as seen in Scars On The Back everything is fine, well, everything should be fine, they fight, like they should. It's why they ended their meetings as harsh as they did... Should be just another fight. Should be.This is a sequel but I guess it can be read on it's own if you're not up for the prequel!
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Tashigi
Series: Scars On The Back Are A Swordsman's Shame [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768186
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	A Swordsman's Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo and welcome!  
> Glad to see you here! Please, **mind the tags** , especially if you check out the prequel!
> 
> In case you're wondering about weird brands I use I'll be making a Tumblr post about all my Strawhat product placements in the near future!

When they met again he knew it was worth it. The drop he went through every time he left her behind like some damn bastard. Fucking treating her like trash every time they parted.

She wasn't with Smoker, but one of the new admirals instead. What the fuck had happened there? Didn't fucking matter though, because they both knew that with the different supervision she had to fight him in earnest, and her blade was strong and unwavering when she rained down attack after attack on him. And it was fucking worth it. Fucking glorious. The fire in her eyes, the dedication in her jaw. All her fucking bullshit excuses about not being good enough, about people looking down on her because she was unfortunate enough to be born with a cunt… None of that mattered now because she was out for blood.

He knew for a fact that the woman weighed next to nothing, but fuck if he didn't have to put the effort in to stand his ground as she barreled into him; full force of her attack concentrated to that one point where their blades met. Shit, that damn building from Alabasta was nothing compared to her.

Deep breath, focus. He pushed her off, and she flipped through the air with a grace that wouldn't let you think that the woman could fucking trip over her own feet. Flipping was usually bullshit. Left one open for attack while being a flipping duck in the air, but not with her. Never with her. There was not a single opening he could use against her, and that fucking skywalk thing she did left her far from helpless. 

She'd always been special. Raw essence of swordsmanship; no stupid tricks or devilfruits.

The only thing holding her back through the years was the fear of hurting her opponent, the fear of getting cut. Fuck. There was no ounce of fear in her now. Whole woman reeked of pure determination. Not just glorious but fucking hot.

One quick sidestep, and a slightly delayed reaction he blamed entirely on his cock, and cold metal met heated flesh. Shigure bit into his arm, triceps giving way easily. He stared. She had never… Blood ran down his arm, sweat agitated the wound; burning, biting. Fuck.

She was frozen before him, eyes wide, a fleeting look of accomplishment threatened to give way to regret. Fuck.

"Don't fucking ruin it now, Glasses." He rushed towards her and she barely managed to raise her blade in defense. Fucking shit, his right arm wasn't quite as it should be, but it didn't matter. Not when his blood was surging and the darkness in his gut singing with fucking euphoria. This was it. This was what he’d always hoped her to be. Fucking knew why Mihawk had agreed to train him now. Meeting someone who took your craft as seriously as you did? Someone able to take you on, when usually all that posed a threat to you were some fucked up devilfruits? Fuck, this shit was exciting! 

The fight was a blur. All quick stabs as she fucking matched his every step, met each of his attacks with equal force, without fear and without any weird-ass morals or fears holding her back. No room to breathe, long-range attacks absolutely unthinkable because wherever he went she was hot on his heels. This was pure. Just them and their blades, while the evacuated town vanished around them, his senses only on her. He could almost hear her blood roaring like his own. Kitetsu and Enma pushing for more, asking even. Meeting Shigure with the same enthusiasm he felt. 

He blinked the sweat from his eyes. Fucking woman hadn’t even granted him the time to tie his bandana around his head. His lungs burned with exertion, his muscles dangerously close to cramping. He loved his swords, all of them, but fuck if this fight wouldn’t be easier if they were a little less thirsty for her blood. 

Her breathing was heavy, her grip on Shigure almost loose in comparison to the beginning of their fight but he had to admit that she was in much better shape than he was. 

_The fuck kind of swordsman are you if you are scared of cutting your opponent?_

How often had he slapped those words in her face? He didn’t have any qualms about cutting her, fucking obviously, he _had_ cut her. Blood soaked her pretty little marine coat as much as his own soaked his haramaki. But. Could she say that he didn’t take her seriously just because he preferred to keep her alive? Fuck. An opening he chose not to take. Kitetsu’s fury shooting up his arm. God damn this better end soon. How long has it been going?

“Fucking what, Roronoa? Fight me!” She barked, pushing and pushing, and- couldn’t this damn woman read the fucking mood? Couldn’t she fucking see that he was slipping? Couldn’t she feel Enma’s hunger? 

Pushed back, too fucking much. Fuck. A wince. Shigure flying. Lodging in the ground. Still whole, thank fuck, he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he had broken it. 

She breathed hard, cradled her wrist to her chest. Sweaty brow wrinkled in frustration, but when she looked up to him, it wasn’t defeat he saw. Resolve. He knew this look. Hadn’t seen it before, but he knew exactly that he had worn it years ago at the Baratie. She let go of her hand, spread her arms to the side, ready.

Fucking hell, woman, seriously? 

“Just please take care of Shigure, will you, Roronoa?”

Kitetsu thrummed in excitement. No, not you. He sheathed his swords, saw a hint of fury. Fuck, she really was like him back then. A frustrated curl of her lips at his hesitation. Her hair plastered against her face in sweat, glasses fogged up, dirt and blood caking every inch of skin and clothing. She was fucking beautiful and he really didn’t know if he should kill her or fuck her.

“Oh, fuck you, Roronoa,” she seethed, fists balled as she turned to get her sword. Well, that sure as fuck made the decision easier.

Her back smacked into the tree harder than intended -when the fuck had they even left the town?- but he didn't care about that. She could take it. Had taken much more force in the past. 

Her lips were dry and chapped like his, which just came with life at sea. Her hands clawing at his chest, raking through his hair were rough and calloused like his own, despite the gloves she wore in combat, just came with life by the sword. Gripped her by the thighs and she wrapped her legs around his hips as if she were used to it. As if it was fucking normal that they’d get it on in the middle of a fucking forest that had come out of nowhere like fucking horny teenagers. They didn’t do impulsive, never had. Each time they had met it had been calm and measured and planned. Negotiated, means to an end. This was new. Exciting in the same way their fight had been. 

He'd never understood how Nami and Robin could fight in skirts and dresses, but right fucking now it would be really fucking nice if Glasses did the same. He pulled his mouth from hers and hot fucking damn, that whine of hers ran straight to his cock.

“Get out of your pants or I’ll cut them off.” He released her thighs and she didn’t even fucking hesitate to comply, no moment of doubt or uncertainty. No worry about what sides they were on, about how fucked they were if they were seen because it did not fucking matter. Euphoria from the best fucking fight they had in ages, ever maybe. And fuck! He really wasn’t sure if he were able to slow the fuck down even if this were their first time together. 

He watched as she shrugged out of her shredded coat and that stupid flowery shirt of hers. Slipped her pants with her panties over her hips, and he fucking saw the glistening string running from her cunt, because she really truly was just like him and found excitement in battle. She turned and braced against the tree and for one fleeting moment, he was really worried fucking Ero-cook rubbed off on him because he was disappointed that he wouldn’t really see her face; that she didn’t even bother to take her pants off in full because she probably expected nothing but a quick fuck from him, didn’t even matter that she’d probably trip and break her neck if she tried. Let his robe pool around his ankles, pushed up his haramaki, which really wasn’t all that useful for a quicky in the woods and finally freed his cock from his pants, which have been way too fucking tight for about half their battle. Had it been the same for her? He chose to think so.

Pushed in quick and the wet heat of her cunt soothed the burn of exhaustion instantly. Fucking reprise. Strong muscles of her back contracting with every thrust, moved fluently under the scar tissue he had left over their months together. She didn’t seem to mind the pain as much anymore, wounded forearms rested on the rough bark of the tree and still, the only thing that left her mouth were moans. 

Held her on her shoulder, rough palm tightly clutched over the scars the fucking harpy had left her. Shouldn’t curse the snow woman like that. Wouldn’t have this thing with Glasses if she’d never gotten that wound, would he? Or maybe they would. Fuck… their fights had always left him irritated, wanting. Maybe it’d just been a matter of time ‘til they’d started to fuck. 

What the fuck was he doing? Heat of the moment his ass.

He pulled out, just when had it gotten this fucking cold? 

“Wha-”

“Shut up, Tashigi,” he said, pulling off his haramaki before he spread the remains of his robe on the mossy forest ground. Pulled her to him, confused as she was, and he didn’t even try to suppress the sigh when she came flush against him, pressing his wet cock between their abs and away from the fucking cold. Woman hadn’t even tripped as she’d turned. Kissed her slower this time, more measured, more controlled. But just like with their fight she met him step for step. Tasted like blood and dirt and the best she ever had. 

Dragged her to the ground with him, glad that she was a fighter like himself because he knew she had the core strength not to tumble down and break her fucking neck even with the exhaustion slowly winning out over the adrenaline. Her skin tasted like mud and salt, dry and rough as it was. He appreciated that. That she spent her free time honing her body and her skills instead of wasting it on bullshit beauty routines she didn’t need. Ripped her bra open and he had to hand it to Usopp- the damn thing was near fucking indestructible, but fuck, he really did not want to think about his Nakama right now. Not when her tits were on display like that. Tits he knew she had a problem with because they were smaller than they could be; because you could see the strong muscle working underneath. Woman was a fucking idiot. Obviously she wasn’t the wet dream of teenage boys but did she really have no idea how much of a fucking turn on it was that he _couldn’t_ break her?

Felt her eyes on him as he pulled her pants from her legs and thank fuck were they wide enough he didn’t have to bother taking off her shoes. She had to see, right? How damn much he liked that hard body of hers. What the fuck would he even be doing with soft and fragile? Apart from ending a depressed heap on the floor wishing to be reborn as a flea for fucking weeks, that is...

Kissed her body, the hard ridges of her abdomen, salt and blood on her skin. She pulled his hair, stopping him. Uncomfortable already? Her cheeks were red. Uncomfortable indeed, worrying her lip. 

"What?"

She didn't say anything, just turned away in obvious embarrassment, and still didn't let go of his hair. Fuck, if she just wanted another quick fuck again that left her wanting she could just fucking say so.

"Don't, I probably smell"

He blinked. That… yeah, no shit she did. They were reeking, both of them. So fucking what? Maybe she wasn't a warrior like him, but fuck if she wasn't a fighter. It couldn't be that different for her, could it?

"You smell of battle, woman."

Her eyes went wide, more red on her cheeks, bridge of the nose, and fuck him if it wasn't the cutest shit he'd ever seen before she all but smashed his face against her cunt. No wonder the Shit-Cook's _sweet Mellorines_ never got him anywhere with her. She tasted divine, no more dirt and blood, but salty sweat and tanginess. Her clit the fucking tiniest he'd ever seen and it surprised him every fucking time he found it with such ease; without getting lost. Her voice loud and unashamed, hard and clear like the song of her sword. Gripped her thigh with his free hand, probably harder than necessary, and wedged his other arm's elbow between the other and his head when her cunt began to flutter against his fingers and her moans grew louder. Even though it was pretty fucking thrilling to know that she _could_ crush his head with those thighs, he’d prefer to die by her blade. 

She called his name when it became too much after her orgasm had swept her away while he kept going. Fucking ‘Roronoa’, of course, because they needed the distance. Never hated to hear this name so much in his fucking life. 

Kissed her to shut her up, no more of that. She fucking hesitated, just for a moment before she pulled him closer to meet his tongue. Really? After all, they had already done together, tasting herself took her aback? 

Her hips pressed against him, urging him to continue. So fucking eager. If he was with anyone else he'd wait. Draw it out. Let that ache in his cock grow ‘til he couldn't stand it any longer and then some. ‘Til his mind got fuzzy and his sight dark, just because he knew the suffering he put both through would be so fucking worth it. But she didn't like to wait. Didn't enjoy being torn to pieces by the intensity. Losing control like that. And he knew he fucking owed her more orgasms than he could count. Orgasms that wouldn't terrify the shit out of her. Fuck, if she were his, he'd show her how to properly lose control. But she wasn't so he lined up and pushed into that wet cunt of hers. Slowly. ‘Cause as much of a dick he’d been to her in the past, there was no fucking way he wouldn’t savor this moment where he didn’t have to be one. 

Her breath hot against his neck, lips, and teeth scraping while he smelled the sea on hers. Felt the buildup shiver down his spine as her cunt grew tight all over, but fuck if he’d end it that way. His body answered to him, not the other way round. Ground his teeth enough to hurt, very careful not to do it like her, not to dig them into her shoulder. 

One hand to push from the ground, the other in her hair pulling her off his trap, as much as he appreciated the dull sting from her blunt teeth, really wasn’t fucking helping his situation right now. 

Confusion in her brown eyes.

“Won’t last like that,” he admitted and she had the gall to blush at him, as if she didn’t fucking know what her aggression did to him. 

She gave him a second to wonder about the determination settling in her gaze before her leg hooked around his, and with a strong push to his shoulder, she had him on his back. He was what? Three times her weight? How was it even that she was never a clumsy mess whenever his cock was involved, hadn’t even slipped out during what he was fucking convinced had to be a secret navy maneuver? No fucking way she could just put him on his back like that otherwise. 

But she had, and now she was sitting on his cock as if it was her fucking throne, grinning in triumph as if it was where she'd always wanted to be.

Stupid dances Nami and Robin did at their parties, that had Curly bleed all over? Ya, was nothing compared to the way she moved above him, this fluid grace only a fighter had. Her cunt so fucking tight it almost hurt and he fucking knew that she was flexing, because that's what she did. Woman fucked as she fought, no wasted movement but full of fierce determination and eyes on the goal. Fuck, he'd never thought that _he'd_ be the playful one in such a thing. Whatever the fuck it even was, because this was definitely not like the usual. Didn't give a fuck about that though. Could worry about that later, when she wasn't panting and sweating above him. Her abdominals moving under dry skin at every rolling of her hips, thighs flexing at every lift. Fuck, she was beautiful like that. Sweat catching dried dirt and blood running trails down her face, her arms. All that lean muscle flawlessly working together, seemingly unbothered by the cuts and scrapes littering her body. Old battle wounds, the scars stark white against her already pale skin right next to new, raw red. She didn't fucking care about any of this because all she focused on was his cock up her cunt and it was legit the hottest thing he'd ever witnessed. 

Fucking hell. Shit cook would have a field day if he could read his fucking mind right now. Sounded like a fucking twisted version of Robin's tacky romance novels, those that she definitely did not read because _heated meat swords_ going into _wet caverns_ would be an insult to her intelligence. Who even wrote shit like that? Was nothing like that. All that flowery bullshit they talked about, fucking _sweet essence from her flower,_ what the actual fuck? He was convinced none of those authors had ever even seen a cunt before. _Erotic dance_ , fuck the lot of them; they danced on the battlefield, this was a fight. Battle. 

Sweat burned in his own wounds, her strong calloused hands scratching over his pecs, fingers digging into the muscle while he met her every thrust. His hands, digging in her glutes moving undisturbed under the added pressure, and if it was even possible her cunt grew even tighter, the first flutters of another orgasm spasming around.

And just fucking maybe, thinking about the tacky novels Robin read to him during his workouts wasn't the worst thing to do right now if it kept him from blowing his load like a fucking teen at the mere sight of the warrior enjoying her spoils… Teen or a fucking asshole that didn't give a fuck about his partners.

Not that it fucking mattered, not that she'd allow him to distract himself or wallow in self-depreciation, as she leaned back, hands gripping into his thighs for support, giving him a full display of her cunt swallowing his cock; her moans hitching as she lifted just right to take him where she wanted it. Grit his teeth to keep the pressure down. Because fuck, fuck, _fuck_ if he wasn't too close for comfort. He'd never realized just how much easier it was to keep control if you already had it. Pulled her down all the way, hipbones clashing since they both lacked the protective layer of fat, and she gasped at the impact. Gasped, and shuddered and she rose to reprimand him for forcing her over before she completely lost to her orgasm, her cunt tight around him, pulsing, fuck. Pressed up inside, deeper, deeper fuck. So tight. Muscles tense. Pressure. Too fucking– 

Fuck.

Few more lazy pumps of his hips, vision returning. Her hot breath on his skin as she rests her sweaty forehead on his chest. Deep breath. Took him some actual effort to loosen the grip of his hands around her hips. Bruises probably. Fucking intense. Might have heard her curse there. 

She pushed herself up, her skin almost clean from all the sweat she'd dripped on him. Dirty drops sparkling on her chin and nose. Dripping on his chest… She gave him a satisfied smile before climbing off him, his half limp cock slapping on his hips in a pathetic heap. Couldn't fault her for the grimace she made at the damn mess tickling out of her, didn't matter she left most of it on him either, he'd left her alone with that often enough.

She stretched next to him and he chose to ignore her visible cringing as he just pulled his pants up again, mess and all.

"You're a pig, Roronoa," she chuckled.

He answered with a non-committal grunt. Ya, he got that a lot. Wasn't the nicest feeling, cum drying on your skin and all but who the fuck knew when she'd fucking push him away, and he sure as fuck wouldn't make an ass out of himself by hopping around with his pants around his ankles.

They lay in silence. Just far enough apart not to touch. He was fine with that. It had been a weird thing, this time… Touching would only make things more complicated than they needed to be. 

"There are no big pharmacies on this island," she spoke into the silence.

"The girls usually stock up on _Ivankov's_ on the bigger Islands" he offered barely even awake, but well aware of the scandalized gasp she made at his suggestion. Fucking hell, she had to know. Not only that she'd talked to Robin but… "Who the fuck do you think catches me after I drop for leaving you all used and unsatisfied?" Was she really this ignorant? They had talked this through over and over, she fucking _knew_ how important aftercare was. _Should_ know that it's not only for the hardcore shit. Fuck! 

But then she curled in his side and the soft breath of her apology fucking soothed his anger as if it was supposed to mean something. Surprisingly soft caress from her hand on his side speaking volumes that it wasn't that she didn't know but had chosen to ignore it for her own selfish reasons; he knew that he didn't have the right to give her shit about it because he had confirmed over and over again that it was alright if it kept her alive ‘til they met again. And fuck! 

Fucking curly shithead had been fucking right with all his shitty taunting. Fuck! He was not going to lie to himself like a pathetic little cunt. Had put it off all this time because it had not been big enough, important enough, to deal with. He had coped just fucking fine, but this time? This was different and they both fucking knew it. Cuddling like lovers, without the excuse of mending abuse… Pulling her closer with his arm around her hip, the other threading in her hair, pressing her face further in his chest because it didn't fucking matter that he was coming to terms with it.

“We’re fucked," he murmured against the crown of her head. 

“We are,” she confirmed with a heavy sigh.

* * *

[ ](https://ladytashigi.tumblr.com/post/621212233711616000/this-sketch-is-for-the-great-nitwentyone-and-her)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Huge thank you to [lunnamars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunnamars) and [Inurshuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inurshuh) for betareading, definitely check out their fics and of course Thanks Ghost for the handholding.  
> Please definitely check out wonderful [ladytashigi's](https://ladytashigi.tumblr.com) Tumblr for a higher resolution! I will forever be grateful for the art I got from her. I'm absolutely speechless and probably forgot a bunch of stuff I should have said because HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS THAT? Don't mind me I'm a mess.
> 
> Drop me a Kudos and or a Comment to let me know what you think about this fic (Apart from the fact that it can be abbreviated as ASS)


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